


My Covert Operative is Your Valentine

by KiratheCarrionite



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Family Feels, Flirting when governments are at stake, I fluffed a pairing and I liked it, M/M, look they talk a lot about trading cards and raising baby agents, really just two dorks in a meet-cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiratheCarrionite/pseuds/KiratheCarrionite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft wouldn't say he's lonely. He's perfectly content with himself. But... it would simply be nice to have someone there that understood without questioning his love and collection of certain obscure memorabilia. Without mocking, thank you, Sherlock. </p>
<p>Enter one Phillip Coulson, the perfect match for the Man Behind the British Government. Who might be so excellent a match because he's been doing the running of his own Terribly Important Strategic Agency. </p>
<p>AKA a long-ago-fill for a long lost kinkmeme prompt. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Covert Operative is Your Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> So I dusted this off and decided to post it publicly in the hopes that it'll give me the oomph for finally finishing it. I have long since lost the original prompt that inspired this, so I hope that wherever you are, anon, you find this and do enjoy it.

Mycroft Holmes knew about the Avengers Initiative before it was even an Initiative. In fact, you might say that it's partly his fault the Avengers got beyond Vaguely Formed Idea.

You see, Mycroft collects trading cards. Captain Britain trading cards, to be exact. Most comic and trading card fans assume that Captain Britain is a cheap knockoff of the American WWII hero Captain America. To some extent, that is true. The Captain Britain comics are only loosely based on reality, in that they take place in England.

Most people don't know that while Captain America was off jumping and shooting and fighting, Captain Britain was acting as a spy in Her Majesty's service. Of course, if most people knew the truth about the agent known as Captain Britain, that would completely defeat the purpose.

Still, when Mycroft discreetly visits collectible card conventions every few years, he can't help but find it intensely frustrating when Captain America fans denigrate his British counterpart.

“Captain Britain is just a two-bit character in a barely-interesting spin-off. He's not even **real** ,” a man with a nasally voice says. Mycroft can't help but pause and turn to look. The speaker is seated in a booth arrayed with vintage Captain America comics and memorabilia. He looks skinny and underfed, and sports a rather unfortunate ponytail. He's speaking to an unassuming man in a grey suit.

“I wouldn't say that. There were many British agents that were vital to the war effort,” the man in the suit says. His tone is mild, and he sounds familiar, somehow. Mycroft ambles over and nonchalantly inspects the wares the infidel has on offer.

“I do hope you were not considering buying any of these,” Mycroft says. He casts a glance to his side, sizing the other man up.

“No, I only buy original Captain America cards,” he says. He turns, giving Mycroft a full view of his face.

Ah. Mycroft knows who he is, of course. One doesn't run the British government without getting to know one's counterparts.

“What are you talking about? These **are** originals,” the vendor says, sounding peeved.

“No, they're not,” Phil Coulson says. The vendor's expression is thunderous, but Agent Coulson's expression remains bland.

“If you'd like, I can direct you to another vendor that also deals in World War Two era trading cards and memorabilia,” Mycroft offers. The dealer they're standing in front of is beginning to go a bit red in the face, and Mycroft would rather prevent a scene. It would also be no hardship to aid someone with the good taste to appreciate Captain Britain.

“That would be helpful. Thank you,” Agent Coulson replies, already turning away from the sneering vendor. Mycroft inclines his head and leads the way.

They're both quiet for a moment, observing the convention around them, eyes flicking expertly around the room. Having ascertained no potential threats, and seeing that both of their security personnel are keeping pace with them, Coulson turns to Mycroft with another bland smile on his face.

“Thank you, again. I don't go to many conventions here in Britain, so the help is appreciated,” he says.

“It can be quite tiring to sift through frauds and imbeciles,” Mycroft acknowledges. Agent Coulson smiles again, but this time it reaches his eyes.

“I agree. I only have a short window here, since I'm only in town for work,” Agent Coulson replies.

“Ah, yes. That business with the embassy. Unfortunate that it went public,” Mycroft says, a hint of sympathy in his voice. Coulson sighs.

“Yes, well, some things can't be helped. I've already dealt with those involved,” Coulson says.

“Quite,” Mycroft says, raising a brown in Coulson's direction. 'Dealt with' was something of an understatement, as certain agents of multiple nationalities would never be able to find work in the intelligence sphere again, legally or otherwise. For some of them, death would have been preferred to a future of banal paper-pushing. Mycroft can't help but admire the elegant handling of the situation, especially as such restrained elegance was hard to find.

They let the conversation lapse, and the quiet between them is comfortable enough. Their pace is slow and hampered by other con-goers, but Mycroft appreciates the anonymity they provide.

“Do you come to these sorts of things often?” Coulson asks. He appears genuinely curious, which Mycroft finds surprisingly gratifying.

“Not as often as I might wish. I am kept busy, you understand, and my security personnel would prefer that I not expose myself this way. But if one does not have certain small joys in life, what does one have?” Mycroft says, smiling politely.

“My thoughts exactly,” Coulson says, returning the smile. “Though, I think your agents look just as pained as mine are.”

“They do tend to be rather enthusiastic. Almost like children, really,” Mycroft says with a smirk. Coulson chuckles.

“Here we are,” Mycroft says, as they finally near the intended booth. “I've bought several items from this dealer myself, and I am able to vouch for their quality and discretion.”

“Oh?” Coulson asks, as they begin looking over the wares on display. A small blonde-haired woman wearing neatly pressed slacks and a blouse waits patiently behind the table. “What do you collect? If you don't mind my asking.

“Captain Britain memorabilia, for the most part. Though the cards are... frustratingly difficult to find,” Mycroft says. Coulson nods sympathetically.

“Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have any Captain America trading cards, would you? I'm looking specifically for first editions distributed before nineteen-fifty,” Coulson says, addressing the vendor.

“I'm afraid we don't have any here, as they're so rare. Our group does have three that you might be interested in, in storage, though,” she says, smiling politely.

“Which ones?” Coulson asks.

“One from the first batch release, with Captain America holding a gun instead of his iconic shield. Another from the single edition that was given to people who bought United States war bonds between nineteen-forty-two and nineteen-forty-three. The third is from the nineteen-forty-eight 'American Heroes' trading card pack released by the comic book publishers that were producing the Captain America comics at the time,” the dealer states.

Coulson's expression shifts to one of slight disappointment.

“Hmm. I already own those three in mint condition,” he says.

“We do have other Captain America memorabilia from that era, if you'd care to take a look?” the dealer offers.

“No thank you,” Coulson says. The dealer nods and turns to Mycroft.

“And for you, Mr. Holmes?” she inquires.

“Have you found any Captain Britain cards since we last spoke?” he asks.

“I'm afraid not,” she says regretfully. “They are quite difficult to find. We will, of course, contact you first should we find one.”

“Thank you, Angela,” he says. She gives him a nod, then turns to another customer who had wandered up while they were speaking. Mycroft turns to Coulson, who is consulting his watch.

“Well, that's all the time I have. Have to catch a plane,” he says, apologetic. He looks up to give Mycroft a short smile. “I enjoyed speaking with you, Mr. Holmes.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Coulson,” Mycroft returns.

“Please, call me Phil. And thank you for the help,” Coulson says with another smile. Mycroft smiles back.

“Think nothing of it,” he says. Coulson nods, catches the eye of a redheaded passerby, and takes his leave.

After he is gone, Mycroft looks around at the milling people and realizes that there is nothing more to hold his attention. He has work to do at the office, so he signals his agents and leaves for the car. He settles in after the routine bomb inspection, mulling over his meeting with Agent Coulson.

It's always interesting and satisfying to meet counterparts of similar temperament and competence, but  especially one who could understand the benefit of simple pleasures. It didn't hurt that under the man's purposefully drab suit, Agent Coulson – Phil – had appeared quite fit.

Quite fit indeed.

_______

Mycroft is staring at the drawer where his stash of biscuits are hidden, debating whether or not the empty calories are worth the ribbing from Sherlock. It has been a **long** day, which he's spent on dealing with a single potential diplomatic incident. It's ten at night and he's still in his office, having only just wrapped things up to his satisfaction.

Maybe just one biscuit.

There's a knock, then his assistant (her name is Catherine today) enters, typing on her cell phone and carrying a package.

“This got through screening earlier today, while we were dealing with Turkmenistan. It's addressed to 'Mr. Holmes, Aficionado,' from 'Phil,'” she says, placing the package on his desk. Mycroft raises a brow and pulls it toward him. It's a large brown padded envelope, addressed in neat copperplate handwriting.

He opens it and pulls out a folded piece of yellow legal paper, then a small card packaged in clear cellophane and laminate. He observes both sides of the card, a hard blink betraying his shock.

It's a first-edition Captain Britain trading card. Not only that, but the card is one that Mycroft doesn't own yet, which Phil would only know about if he'd researched Mycroft's buying habits. Yet the search, which should have pinged his radar at least once, did not. Phillip Coulson was able to do what countless other intelligence agents had spectacularly failed at. And he did it to get a present for Mycroft.

Oh, how clever. Mycroft can feel himself smiling, so he schools his face back into serenity. He is, reluctantly, touched by the gesture, with its subtlety and meaning. He gently touches the card's packaging. It's been some time since he was this personally impressed.

He unfolds the note, with Catherine watching, and reads it. 'Found this in an antiquities shop in Prague, of all places. Thought you might enjoy it.' Mycroft represses another smile. Well.

“I would like a full dossier on Agent Phillip Coulson, of SHIELD, down to the number and variety of his trading cards. I want no fingerprints, electronic or otherwise, on this one,” Mycroft says, glancing up at Catherine. He uses his mildest tone, but Catherine still raises her brows at him. She nods briskly, making a note on her phone.

“I'll take care of it myself,” she says, then exits the room. Mycroft allows himself a smirk and sits back, satisfied. It's been a while since he flirted with someone of Phillip Coulson's caliber.

This should be... Interesting.


End file.
